


The Six People Hershel Layton Saw in Flora and The One He Didn't

by bentham (Arachnia)



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Angst, Gen, Parental Abuse, Self Harm, Skin picking, lots of mentions of death and abandonment tread lightly, mentions of suicide idealation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 07:23:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1378849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arachnia/pseuds/bentham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It feels like I escaped one tower just to live in another!" Layton is forced to confront some emotional hangups concerning his daughter.</p><p>HUGE HUGE HUGE spoilers for the whole series INCLUDING Azran Legacies, includes mentions of self harm, abuse and lots of death and angst. Please tread carefully!!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Six People Hershel Layton Saw in Flora and The One He Didn't

**1\. Hershel Bronev**

Layton has a queer flashback while he’s on the Bostonius, watching Sycamore try to pull up Aurora’s hair in a ponytail. He is five, maybe, and he’s watching the television and he has a cold. Mother let him stay home, wrapped up in a quilt, and she sits next to him. The news is on. She’s tsking and occasionally says “What is this world coming to?” or “Those poor people”.

After a piece on a fire in London, a picture comes up on the screen. A young boy, maybe 10, with a pair of glasses, light brown hair and tan skin. The reporter mentions the search is still on for Theodore Bronev. He goes on to say he and his younger brother were orphaned when their parents went missing. The younger brother was adopted out and his current whereabouts were protected for his safety. Curiously enough, the reporter talks about how many copies of the boys’ birth certificates were found in their house, some even appeared to be forged, names and birthday’s changed. His name might not even be Theodore, but there was no immediate family and the nearby houses were for sale, the boys were homeschooled, and the Bronev’s kept themselves. It was nearly a perfect crime.

He goes on to describe contact information and says that he may have been kidnapped by the shadowy organization of Targent, suspected in his parent’s disappearance, but Hershel’s mother ran to the kitchen before the last bit and has her head buried in her hands. He’d never seen his mother cry before. He wanders in and tugs on her sleeve, asking over and over _What’s wrong, what’s wrong_. When that doesn’t work, he starts to get upset. He’d always been a stoic boy, a tough nut to crack as his father liked to joke, but he starts tearing up and whimpering. _Please don’t cry, please don’t cry._ His mother scoops him up in his arms and he cries into her chest. _I’m so glad you’re safe, I won’t let anything hurt you, I love you so much Hershel._

His father comes home late that night and he hears them talking in the kitchen. “We should’ve taken both of them sooner, we should have never just gotten one and said we’d come back for the other. They weren’t puppies, they’re children. We could’ve mortgaged the house. We could have had the money sooner. We could’ve protected them both.”

“Lucille,” his father sighs. He starts to say something before he hears whimpering sobs again.

“Professor, are you ok?” Sycamore says, brush in his hand. “You look dizzy.” Layton shudders suddenly.

“Just motion sickness, I think.”

**2\. Randall**

He remembers being 16 and Randall calls him at 2am, on the verge of tears, begging and begging _Please can I come over I know it’s late but I don’t want to upset Angela and I can’t go back home Hershel please_ and Hershel goes to his front lawn, shivering in the cold in his nightclothes, and he sees Randall sneak up with a purple bruise on his cheek. He examines it in the mirror in Layton’s room forever before he finally blurts out “Who did that to you?” Randall is tense and doesn’t answer.

_Did you pick a fight with Dalston?_ he says and Randall’s anger leaks out just a bit and says he _DIDN’T PICK A DAMN FIGHT WHY CAN’T HE MIND HIS BUSINESS_ but there are tears in his eyes and his glasses are bent, he looks pathetic. Layton doesn’t look it, but he’s smart and he connects the dots quick. _Did your father do this?_

Randall looks like he’s been kicked in the gut. _He hasn’t done it in a while. He was yelling about Angela and you and Henry and I just lost it. He doesn’t hate you guys but he hates me being your friends and the things he called Angela, I’d_ he stops and wipes his eyes and flinches at the pressure on his cheek _I wanted to kill him, it’s funny I don’t remember what I said but he hit me so hard I slammed into the wall and mother was screaming and I just ran. I’ve been running for hours I think I’m so tired Hershel but I did one hell of a workout, prolly built up some muscles, you think they’ll let me on the track team?_ He laughs nervously for far too long but his shoulders start jerking forward and his head is low and he just starts sobbing.

Hershel wraps his arms around his shoulders and he doesn’t stop crying until he falls asleep on the bed. Hershel sleeps on the floor that night.

In the morning he has to decide how to tell his parents but one look at Randall, still wearing yesterday’s clothes and face swollen and they know. She fixes them a good breakfast and before they start the walk to school his mother stops Randall and talks to him. Hershel being the good friend he is, of course, eavesdrops. _You’re such a good boy, Randall, you’re so smart and brave and sweet. You bring out the best in my boy, you know? Hershel was so different before he knew you, he was so quiet and he internalized everything, like he was scared of the world but you make him glow, you know that? If you ever need to stay over again you just drop by, don’t even have to call ahead. Have fun at school._

Randall catches up and he’s smiling again, small as it is. Hershel remembers the next part clearly, Randall suddenly speaks while they’re halfway up the road.

“You know what gets me through the day sometimes?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Knowing I’ll outlive that bastard, and I’ll be a better person for it.”

This comes to Layton when Randall’s father slams him into a wall for telling him his son is dead.

**3\. Angela**

She hasn’t looked at him since Randall died.

He’s fidgeting, he’s always done it but it’s been getting bad. He’s started to pick as his hands constantly and won’t notice until theres a sudden, sharp pain and he looks down and his knuckles are blood-soaked.

His father gets him gloves, but then he just starts picking his sleeves. In turn, his mother teaches him to sew, watching him carefully with needle and thread in his hands, making sure he doesn’t jab himself, accidentally or otherwise.

The school’s let him do most of his work at home, but he usually just walks most of the day. One day he found himself face to face with the Norwell wall and he started screaming, just screaming at nothing before he felt blood in his throat, and he doesn't even remember walking home. It seems to be the theme of the days, blurring together, walking, stopping. He comes to school for the last week but no one looks at him. He graduates top of the class and no one congratulates him except Dalston, patting him on the back and saying "It's not your fault," and Dalston's probably the one guy that really means it. 

A day before he leaves he finds Angela in the forest, staring at the treetops. He tries to say her name but it comes out as nothing more than a croak. “Angela,” he says. No answer.

“Angela.” He repeats louder. She looks over at him and her eyes widen, deer down a hunter’s scope. He walks over to her.

“What,” she says, words filled with venom, “Do you want?”

“I’m leaving tomorrow.” He says, breathing in.

She doesn’t answer, but her eyes glance down. “I wanted to tell you. I’ll miss you.” She flinches as if he struck her.

She whispers something and glares to the side. “What?”

“You killed him.”

“What?” And he’s far away again.

_(randall’s crying in his arms with a purple bruise on his cheek)_

“He went into those ruins with you. You should’ve stopped him, but no, you were his friend---”

_(GIVE ME YOUR OTHER HAND RANDALL he’s shouting but he’s already slipping if this were reversed randall wouldve yanked him up with ease why does he have to be so goddamn weak so goddamn skinny looking and weak)_

“And you let him die! He’s dead now Hershel, he’s never coming back!”

_(feeling randall slip between his fingers clawing at his wrists he always feels clawing at his wrists anymore if they could just claw open)_  
_(tell angela i’m sorry)_  
_(his heart is hammering and he can’t breathe and angela, angela angela she’s still there and she’s sobbing and screaming and she’s)_

He starts to realize she’s been throttling his chest, pounding her fists into it. Another clear memory, her face screwed into rage and fear and pain and shouting over and over “IT SHOULD’VE BEEN YOU, YOU DESERVE IT MORE THAN HIM WE WERE SUPPOSED TO GET MARRIED WE WERE GOING TO BE TOGETHER FOREVER HE PROMISED YOU PROMISED TO KEEP HIM SAFE”

His hand grabs her wrist so quickly and mechanically that it startles her silent. His face has been blank but he starts to feel tears welling up. “I wish it was me too.”

She looks disgusted at him and he deserves it, he knows it. She yanks her wrist away---

And it’s soaked in blood. His hands look like he shoved them into a pile of broken glass. She’s too shocked to scream, opting to gasp horribly and wipe her hands with wild eyes. Stain, that’s all he does, he's been an ink blot on the town since it happened. The breath comes back to him and he starts to hyperventilate. “He said sorry, he said he was sorry,” He starts repeating, clutching his arms and falling to his knees.

Angela has lost her patience and she shouts “God, what is wrong with you?!” Before running back home.

He does not go home until his father finds him curled up in the same spot, moon high in the sky and worry in his voice.

(“I didn’t mean that,” Angela says when they’re alone 18 years later in her parlor. It’s quiet but he can still barely hear. She rubs her wrist. “I was so upset, Hershel, I just… I wanted to find some reason…” He assures her it’s ok and pretends not to know she’s lying.)

**4\. Claire**

Claire with her pale skin and pink cheeks and red hair, Claire with her collection of glasses, Claire with her impeccable fashion. Claire with her soft hands that hold his rough ones when he gets antsy and feel so nice on his face. Claire’s never ending warm, the way she feels when he holds her, the way she lights up the room. The way she’s so bold compared to his quiet, composed attitude, the way she bursts with emotion compared to his stoic stance and crossed arms. She made him open up, she pushed him to be the best he could be, in her own ways. He remembers the first day she called him a gentleman, they’re on their first date and she’s a little tipsy and it just finished raining. They’re about to cross the street but there’s a puddle she’s wearing flats.

So he offers to carry her over. She thinks he’s joking until he lifts her up and over and carries her bridal-style for two blocks. “You’re such a gentleman, Hershel!” she says, giggling. Gentlemen. There it was. He wasn’t old fashioned or archaic, he was a gentleman. He feels comfy in the label and she can tell, and she showers him with similar praises. She smiles and laughs it and helps him feel safer, happier.

Her family live in a far off town and he’s the only one who could identify the body. It’s all the right parts but put together wrong, the pegs don’t fit and she looks off, unreal, waxy, burnt. Like a mannequin of her, kept too close to a flame. It’s a closed casket funeral, this is not the way she wants to be remembered, not vivacious happy beautiful bold strong Claire.

He was going to ask her to marry him that day.

**5\. Aurora**

For a month he tries to mourn her but nothing seems right, she died in front of him shut down and shuffled of the mortal coil and he couldn’t do a damn thing, so many things just came into his life and then slipped away. It was silly but he thought of what a nice life they could lead, a patchwork family, Layton teaching her schoolwork and learning from her culture. Emmy smiling and teaching her to fight, making her strong and tempered. Luke and her going to the park and playing games together. He wants a funeral but they can't, it's like she never existed, like she didn't have a body and a soul and a little smile and white-blue eyes. Luke has a picture of her that he puts flowers by. "She'll be back one day, she'll walk through that door smiling and say 'Remember me?'" Luke says on days when the office is too heavy with silence.

In a few moments she is gone from his life. He thought he’d be used to it by now.

**6\. Hershel Bronev (Again)**

Descole looks at him and says goodbye but Layton prays every day he’s still out there and maybe he hates the Bronev name and maybe he’s childish and clinging to a past he rejects but he likes the idea of family and fixing him. Raised in the same house, but Hershel went out the front door into the loving arms of a family and friends while Descole snuck out the back door to a life of revenge and pain. It could be like it was, only closer, sharing tea like they did but now knowing they're tied together by something thicker than a mutual love of history and a terrible sense of humor. 

In the weeks following his disappearance he receives a letter with no return address. Inside is a faded photograph of a small family at what looks like a dig site.

**7\. Emmy**

She leaves behind a scrapbook of all the best shots she’s taken. Luke and him thumb through it in silence, lingering on pictures of her, on Aurora, on his parents, on everything. “I’m going to protect people, like Emmy did.” Luke says suddenly. “I promise. I won’t let anyone get hurt again.” Hershel’s sure he said something similar when he was almost twice Luke’s age and realizes rather suddenly without Emmy, he can’t protect Luke nearly as well. She was strong enough for both of them, so he'll need to be stronger.

Emmy promises to return one day. It’s been four years.

**8\. Claire (Once over)**

He and Luke get all the way to the office before he breaks down in wracking sobs. Luke wraps his arms around him and swears he’ll always be here.

**9\. Luke**

He waves at the ship until its completely out of sight.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Why don’t you let me go with you on case?” Flora is frustrated and she’s shaking, delicate but sharp. “It feels like I escaped one tower just to live in another! I can’t get strong unless you let me prove myself, you know?” It's late and he's madder than she's ever seen but he just stands still like a child getting scolded. He deserves every bit of it, he knows it, he's not particularly a good father.

 _(aurora and claire and emmy would be so ashamed but his brother would probably just laugh in some shared pain, 'so everyone you love dies too i wonder if its genetics')_

_(he hasn’t been sleeping well not since claire or luke and its been nearly two months)_

He pulls the brim of his hat over his eyes. “Flora, it’s---”

“Is it because I’m childish? Or maybe it’s because I’m a girl? I’m tired of being disregarded, Professor!” He wants to tell her that the reason he disregards her is because he loves her and wants to protect her and keep her safe but those two wires don't really connect the more he thinks about it and she's obviously noticed it too. He's told himself over and over that _she's delicate she could get hurt or killed or god knows what else lord knows what kind of ruffians are out there ready to destroy gentle flowers like her_ but there's more to it than that.

_(its fleeting but he sees shadowy figures behind her clenching masks collapsing into mechanics holding icicles into necks of figures burning to ashes then its gone a shared warning of don't get close to him hes cursed he'll only bring ruin but where else does she have to go, he'll only bring her down)_

He snaps back but damage is done, her expression softens as she looks at his eyes, regretful and drained. “Professor? I-I’m sorry, I didn’t… I should’ve yelled.” Her confidence is gone and she’s scared again. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” It's his fault she's like this god why couldn't Emmy be here to help him.

_(how do you tell your adopted daughter that the reason you didn't look ask about her in the future was because you thought you got her killed?)_

“It’s my fault,” he says, biting his lip and putting a hand on her shoulder. “I shouldn’t treat you like this. It’s just.” Familiar tight feeling in chest being pounded on wrists feeling torn to shreds “You remind me of someone and I,” Shaking shaking shaking warm tears down his cheeks, but she’s not any of them she’s Flora, his adopted daughter, brave enough to admit this to him but scared enough to apologize.

“I don’t want to lose you.” He holds her close and doesn’t let go.


End file.
